Page 70 of My Heart To Heal

‘Nick,’ his name is a whisper on my lips, but he shakes his head.

‘See you later, little bud.’

And then he’s gone, disappearing down the stairs and out of sight and, by the venom in his words, out of my life.

Putting Jonah to bed was hell. Not for any reason that was his fault, but because I was battling against crying and throwing up the entire time, and he seemed to take forever to go.

Laying in his little bed while he sang himself drowsy lullabies, I admitted to myself that my heart was broken. I should have said yes. If I’d just saidyes, Nick, I want to do this with you, he’d be here holding me right now. Yeah, I’d have to tell him everything about Bax, and that would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but he would have me. And I would have him. God, I wish I’d said yes.

As I sit on my sofa in the dim light and quiet of the evening, my mind races. If Bax comes back, I won’t have Nick. Do I call Doug? Bree? I should call Bree. I should have reported him years ago for his abuse,but he convinced me he would get away with it and things would be worse for me then.

I think about Nick and the look in his eyes earlier tonight. He looked so hurt, so angry. He thinks I betrayed him in an awful way. I need him to know the truth, even if it means spilling my guts about it all. I can’t let him think I would do that to him.

I know he’s home. I can hear Incubus playing just loud enough to make it through the walls to my silent apartment.

Raising my water glass to my lips once more, I take a swig and stand, preparing to do something I have never done and feeling like I might pass out.

After knocking on his door, I wait barefoot in the hallway, in the shorts and oversized shirt I put on after my shower. I feel tiny, weak, terrified he’ll hear everything and reject me anyway — terrified he won’t even let me explain.

He opens the door and turns his attention to the ceiling, frustrated, pissed — all of the above, and I take a breath. I don’t know how to do this, but I have to try.

You Make Me Feel Safe, Nick

Nick

‘Can we talk?’ Missy’svoice is low and timid, and she looks exhausted.

When I heard the knock at my door, I knew it would be her. I could have ignored it. My anger wanted me to, but that nagging lingering voice in the back of my head, the one that heard and held onto her words earlier when she tried to tell me I’d got it all wrong, won’t shut up.

My hurt is yelling at me not to be naïve and fall for her bullshit, but my feelings for her, for what we had, are louder.

‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about.’

As I move my hand up to grip the door, she slams her hand against it, clearly thinking I was about to shut it in her face, and I see the wash of tears wet her eyes in the bright light of the hallway. I see the way her lips part. I see her wide, panicked eyes.

‘It wasn’t what you think.’ Her voice trembles, and I shake my head. ‘Nick, listen.’ She raises her voice and I feel my eyebrows lower at the desperation I hear. ‘I wasn’t trying to make him jealous. I don’t want him. I never want him anywhere near us. I used you, yes, but…’ she gasps for breath and swipes at the tears tracing paths down her cheeks. My instincts scream at me to reach for her and comfort her, but I can’t, not yet. ‘I reached for you because,’ she inhales shakily and closes her eyes, then reaches for and starts to raise the hem of her shirt, ‘I reached for you because I was afraid.’

She’s raising her shirt. She never raises her shirt.

I drag my gaze from her closed eyes and the tears still escaping them, and lower them to the expanse of bare skin I’ve never seen despite the intimacy we’ve shared. When a loud sob escapes her, and she raises it higher, turning a little to the side, everything makes sense.

BAX.

The roughly shaped scars of the letters burned or sliced into the skin stretched across her ribs, and the tiny circular cigarette burn scars that I recognize, that I have to match, that I covered with tattoos to hide. He fucking branded her.

‘I was afraid.’ She sobs, and my heart breaks.

Reaching out for the shirt clenched tightly in her fist, I pull gently, covering the scars she wasn’t ready to show, and she grabs my wrist.

‘I’m sorry.’

Her voice is barely there as I pull her into my chest and hold her as her tears soak through my shirt. That son of a bitch branded her, and my heart is racing with the urge to put him in the ground.

‘Come on.’ Pulling back from her slowly, I wait for her to raise her gaze to mine, and when she does, I have to fight not to crumble at the defeat I see in her. Her spark is gone, and she looks drained, sad, and afraid. ‘Jonah’s in bed, Miss. Let’s go to your place and talk.’

Inside her apartment, I watch as she pads over to the sofa and slumps down, picking up her water with a shaky hand.

‘I’ll make some tea,’ I say, needing to do something, and she stands.

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